The Wind and the Stars
by Slayergirl
Summary: Sequel to my earlier fic 'Something To do', and whilst this could probably be read as a standalone, it makes more sense if read as a sequel. Rose reflects on her life in the alternate universe, and on her love for the people she misses.


Rose gazed thoughtfully at the rose on her desk. It was now… what? A hundred years old?... and still it didn't fade. A faint glow tinged the edges of its petals, but nobody who didn't know would understand it or notice it. No matter what she'd been through, she and that rose, no matter how battered it had got in a jacket pocket or bag, over the years, it just bounced back to the way it was that day…

She figured she should really have realised sooner about Jack. She hadn't remembered giving him life, back on the Game Station. She hadn't realised that she'd done the same to herself… and to the rose.

But there it was. Two immortal beings trapped in parallel universes, linked by this unearthly flower. Jack had told her, in the end, that he'd sent the roses on her eighteenth birthday, and the Doctor had explained some bits and pieces. She still didn't understand all of it, but she understood enough to worry about Jack… and it broke her heart to look at the flower and think of what she might have had.

In some ways, that was why she did it.

She reached out a finger to trace the curve of a petal, feeling, as she always did, a slight tingle coursing through her. The Doctor had said that it held her power – the power of the Bad Wolf – as it had been on the Game Station that day, and that it would last as long as she did, in a sort of symbiotic relationship with her. She'd asked why it was that the TARDIS had tolerated her, that _he'd_ tolerated her, and not Jack, and he'd smiled tiredly. "She's a part of you, part of the rose. In a sense, you and the rose are almost like one entity, split into two personae. Two bodies. You didn't give life to the rose, it was a part of you, a part of the giving process. It took life as you did, as in some ways I do when I regenerate, though this was different… but Jack was given life deliberately. Look, it's difficult, I can't explain it properly to you…"

_Stupid Ape_, she thought bitterly, knowing she was being unfair. She hadn't really understood, and she wasn't sure the Doctor had, either.

She wondered, for the umpteenth time, if there was any way of getting back to Jack. Not to the Doctor, not now; no, that wasn't what she wanted, not really; it was Jack she worried about. She got up, and sighed as she saw herself reflected in the glass of the internal window to the rest of the Hub. No hint of grey hair, not a wrinkle, no aches or pains unless she exerted herself overmuch in the field. No sign of aging, any more than the rose aged. Yet her husband had died, and Sarah-Jane, too, leaving her bereft with no husband, no child. SJ hadn't had any children. She'd died too young, following her mother into the field stubbornly, despite knowing she wasn't immortal. Rose still blamed herself for her daughter's death, even though, in reality, it had been SJ's fault. She'd ordered her to stay behind; it hadn't occurred to her that her daughter would disobey her. She should have known better.

Days like these, she sometimes wanted to take the rose and tear it to shreds, weeping for what she'd unwittingly wrought in her life – and in Jack's life. But she knew it wouldn't help, any more than putting a pistol to her head would have worked. It would just give her a headache. She wondered if tearing the rose apart would hurt it as much, and decided she didn't want to risk it. It wasn't the rose's fault, after all; it was hers.

Grabbing her jacket, and shoving the rose unceremoniously into the breast pocket, she left the Hub and went to the top of the building, looking out over Cardiff, over the bay. She wondered what Jack was doing now, where he was, if he ever thought of her at all. If he hated her for what she'd done. The last time she'd seen him, he'd said he hadn't, but that was nearly a hundred years ago, and she knew just how much could change in that time. He would have lost loved ones, workmates. Places would have changed. Attitudes would have moved on. Bizarrely, she found herself wondering if he still dressed the same, in that greatcoat he loved so much. She hoped he did.

"I miss you."

The wind swirled around her, sweeping her blonde hair round her face in a wild dance, and snatching the words away from her as if it feared she'd try to take them back. She sighed, and hunkered down, leaning back against the low parapet of the new Hub building. She'd laughed when she'd seen the designs, and SJ had teased her about the castle-like structure being for her benefit, as everyone knew she liked to go up to the rooftop to think or to be alone. SJ had given her a softer look, then, and Rose knew what she hadn't said – that she knew that her mother went to be closer to the stars, to be closer to _him_. Though she didn't know, really, which _him_ it was she was trying to be close to. Maybe both of them.

It was already twilight, and the first few stars were beginning to twinkle in the dusky sky. All over the city, lights were beginning to come on. There were fewer zeppelins flying, less activity out on the bay. Up here, it really was just her, the wind and the stars. The rest of the team knew not to come up here when she was up here. Here, she could be quiet, at peace; and if the wind was blowing in just the right direction, as it was tonight, it sounded like the strange, haunting sound of the TARDIS engines. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the TARDIS appearing, the doors opening, and him – them – coming out, holding out their arms to her. But then she'd open her eyes, and it would just be her, the wind and the stars, and tears would form in her eyes that she'd brush away angrily, wondering why she kept doing this to herself, and vowing that this really would be the last time.

It never was.

She kept coming back, again, and again, and again, to this lonely, haunting place to hear that sound, to feel close to those she loved, to be close to the stars again. Deep down, she knew that she could never give this up. She closed her eyes, a slight smile forming as the wind sang the TARDIS' song to her, and the rose in her breast pocket glowed a little brighter as her pulse soared at the sound. _Keep your eyes closed, keep your eyes closed_, she urged herself desperately; but as always, temptation got the better of her in the end.

She opened her eyes, staring into the gathering darkness, straining to see the familiar blue box, the two men she longed for and missed, anything to show her that it wasn't just her imagination. But there was nothing there, and the rose's glow faded at the realisation.

Just her, the wind and the stars.


End file.
